


Eyes That Wonder When

by Prochytes



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: The last vanity of age is to imagine that they won’t do just fine without us.





	Eyes That Wonder When

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ and _Daredevil_ to the end of S2 for both shows. Title from Ogden Nash’s poem “Old Men”. Dark themes, rough sex, swearing, and violence.

The first set of Hand goons didn’t occupy him for as long as he had expected. He took advantage of the lull to wipe his sword. The two squads, held in reserve against just such a night as this, had always been a potential problem; he hadn’t bothered to mention them to Matty or the girl, because of how he had always planned to stop them being one. Matty wrestling with his conscience about what needed to be done was still, after all these years, like listening to a five-year-old pack a suitcase. It took hours; it was dull as fuck; and there was always shit left over, anyways. 

So, one squad of Hand reserves was cooling meat, while Matty and the girl with the hummingbird pulse breached the main complex. He had expected Matty to bring one of his new playmates along for the ride: The Immortal Dumb-Ass, maybe, or Nancy Drew. Instead, the boy had enlisted some kid from the old orphanage with whom he had just been reunited, because the Apocalypse was now a fucking rom-com. 

The kid in question tossed earthquakes, now. He should, arguably, have been up to speed on that, but no one except Matty (and, maybe, Ellie) had ever really believed that he knew everything. 

He listened for the betraying breaths of the second squad, who should have been stationed on the floor below. The air there lay thick and still, which was unexpected. In fact, the only other breath in the barracks was… 

Closer. 

“For the avoidance of doubt, Stick,” a voice spoke from the doorway, “you die before you get your hands on Daisy.”

He shrugged, and sheathed his sword. “Fine by me. I like my pussy with more miles on the clock. But you know that, Melinda.”

She walked in from the corridor. Older, of course – there was a lot of that going around. The lines and planes of her folded in, a little. Hard to hang on to all the muscle, once you hit fifty. From across the room, he could hear the sorrows of her spine. But still that long gambler’s roll of blood with every alternation of her heart; that body still, diminished, a wonder of the world.

She’d be looking as sour as Nancy Drew after hearing that Prohibition had made a comeback. 

“The kid’s one of yours?” he said. “Figures. You made her in your image. Soft. Self-portrait in marshmallow. You always were soft, Melinda. Don’t think I didn’t hear about how you got all bent out of shape just because you had to kill some girl. I have days when I do that. I call them, ‘Thursday’.” 

“I prefer to work weekends.” She hadn’t moved any closer. “Is this the War?”

“Let’s call it an opening engagement.”

“Daisy’s not a part of this.”

“It’s cute you think that anyone has a choice.”

She snorted. “Still the same vain old man whose Doomsday has to be bigger than anyone else’s.”

“But you came to watch the kid’s back, without telling her.” The hitch in her breathing told him that that was so. “You’re what happened to the second squad. You don’t change, Melinda. You’ll dip in and out of the War, like someone trying to boil an egg without cracking the shell. You and Daisy will go on braiding each other’s hair, while the world around you dies by inches. And then you’ll bury another broken girl.” 

He knew that that would be enough to goad her. He knew what was coming. But she was still Melinda May; still so fast that knowing wasn’t worth jack shit. He barely blocked her opening front kick. Small but strong – an older and more calculating Ellie.

(Once, he had thought that she was the Black Sky. She wasn’t. That had delayed by several decades the day when one of them would have to murder the other. Gather ye rosebuds, as that pencil-pushing prick who walked her on his leash would say.) 

He broke her nose, for old time’s sake. She dislocated his shoulder. Just a pair of sentimental old fools. There was blood, and sweat, and adrenaline going sour, and then his mouth was on her neck, and her thigh was between his legs, and “Chaste” was more a guideline than a rule. 

“Make your peace with your girl while you can,” he said, when they were done. “The War’s gonna grind her up.”

“You think so?” She stretched beside him. “Wait. Listen.”

He listened. After a few moments, he heard cascading concrete in the main complex – enough to make The Immortal Dumb-Ass wince in his property portfolio. The boy’s heartbeat was ringing a victory peal. Soon, Matty and the girl would be sinking into a quagmire of piety and sass, holding hands and talking about their feelings. Kids of today. Why couldn’t they just wrestle and fuck, like normal people?

“The last vanity of age,” she whispered in his ear, “is to imagine that they won’t do just fine without us.”

He snorted. “I’ll save you a seat at the End of Days, Melinda.”

“I’ll see you there.”

FINIS


End file.
